A Tired Doctor and His Consultant
by randomplotbunny
Summary: John was worn out and no one seemed to notice or care. Not Sarah, calling him in at all hours with no warning. Not Mycroft, kidnapping him for tea. And certainly not Sherlock, dragging him out of bed for a break in the case; no matter how minimal it may be. How is he supposed to get any rest? Even more important: When can he stop to make himself some tea? Now continued!
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: Not mine. If they were Jim would never have shot** **himself**** and he and John would have visited a nudist beach. **

John dragged his feet along the sidewalk, he hadn't slept in four days. Between double shifts at the clinic and chasing Sherlock all over London John hadn't had time for a decent cup of tea, let alone eight hours of healthy sleep.

And don't forget Mycroft! He had kidnapped John five times in the last two days.

Once was to find out what new case Sherlock was working on.

Once was to try and gain Johns help in inducing Sherlock to take a case for the government.

And, as far as the doctor knew, the rest were just inept attempts to socialize. Though from the way Sherlock always acted afterwards each time it could be some of that odd sibling rivalry the two were always at.

With the poor doctors focus so scattered, and his tired mind trying to keep up, John didn't notice the sleek black car pull up next to him or the rather intimidating man stepping from the drivers door.

He barely noticed being ushered into the backseat, and when he did he simply thought it was Mycroft wanting another social visit. He couldn't have been more wrong.

Taking in the person next to him in the backseat, and mildly surprised that it wasn't 'Anthea', John tried working his mind for who this familiar man was.

"Oh Johnny! I'm hurt! You've forgotten me already!" There was no forgetting that voice though.

Adrenaline awakening the ex-soldier, John really looked at where he was.

A large muscular blonde man sat across from him, pointing a gun at his midsection; and, oh yeah, there was a psychotic consulting criminal sitting next to him.

'I just don't live right.' He thought while taking all this in.

"What do you want Moriarty?" He didn't try to hide his exhaustion from the madman, it would be useless with Sherlock so there was no point here with the evil twin.

As this thought crossed Johns' mind he had to repress a giggle. 'Dear lord, I'm more tired than I thought if I'm making jokes at a time like this.'

"If your done with your little observances, I'd like to have your attention if it wouldn't be too much of a bother." The voice might be chipper but there was no mistaking the threat underneath. That didn't stop John from being flippant though.

"I guess I can listen to you for a while, seeing as your giving me a ride and all." He couldn't suppress the giggle this time.

He was making jokes at the expense of a mad genius whom had just effectively abducted him! No more staying awake for days at a time, it really messed up his survival instincts.

"Was that a joke Johnny boy? Are you feeling well? I could play nurse and give you a check up if you say yes."

"Is that a promise?"

What the hell! First a lame joke and now flirting! Maybe he was sick. But, O the look of shock on Moriartys' face was well worth it. He'd take a picture if he wasn't certain going for his phone would get him shot.

"What has dear Sherlock been feeding you lately, pet? Maybe if I get some I could give it too all my abductees, it is certainly making you more interesting."

The adrenaline was wearing off, and John was having trouble keeping his eyes open now that he was in a stationary position.

"Listen Jim," he might as well throw caution to the wind seeing as how probably wasn't going to survive long anyway. "I have been awake several days too long and am likely to pass out at any moment, so could you just tell me what you need me to do without all the games; please?"

He wasn't actually expecting an answer, at least not to anything he had just said, so he was pleasantly surprised to get the straight answer had asked for.

"I don't really need anything from you Johnny, this will be more of a game of chase for Sherlock than anything else. So just sit back and relax. We can even spend some quality time together.

"Doesn't that sound nice?"

John wanted to be repulsed but he just didn't have the energy. And if he were being completely honest, which is easy to do after being awake more than one hundred hours, he found Moriartys' company rather nice.

At least when the man wasn't making threats to him or his flatmate or strapping him into semtex or being generally murderous.

When he wasn't being any of that it could be said he made for rather nice company, at least he was more aware of social conventions than any man with the last name of Holmes that John had met.

"It kind of does at that."

Savoring the second look of shock he had received in a matter of minutes, John carefully reached behind him and slowly withdrew his gun.

Turning it so the handle was pointed out, John passed it over to the slightly nervous gunman that had been all but forgotten in the brief exchange.

"Take good care of her, I'll be wanting her back"

"I'm the one with a flair for dramatics John. What are you on about?"

It was obvious that he didn't really need the explanation but John gave it anyway. It felt good to be asked something rather than having it deduced and then dismissed.

"I said before that I was very tired. I'm just acknowledging that I don't have the energy to fight my way out of this car or to try and repel your verbal barbs."

At this point the doctor gives a jaw popping yawn.

"Would you mind if I were to nap the rest of the way to wherever you're taking me?"

"No, go right ahead Johnny. If you think you can fall asleep in my presence then go right ahead."

The clear amusement in that deep voice was a bit annoying.

Having an idea that at any other time other than at sheer mental collapse would have been instantly vetoed by every cell in his body that longed to survive, John laid himself out of the backseat, put his arms around Moriartys' waist, pillowed his head in the criminals lap and snuggled.

"What in the hell do you think you're doing!?" Was the instant scream of response.

"Making myself comfortable. Now be quiet, I'm tired."

There was a bit of stuttering and a push or two at Johns' shoulder, but the good doctor was already dead to the world; and nothing was going to wake him.

Not a sudden car chase through the back streets of London.

Or a short lived gun fight.

Not even the transfer to a new vehicle, where he buried his face back into a certain consultants lap and proceeded to sleep peacefully.


	2. Chapter 2

_AN: Thank you all for your reviews! I will keep this story going. Its going to be a Johniarty fic, so if you don't like it I'm sorry. Its my favorite ship of all!_

**Disclaimer: Don't own. A.C.D. was a god. Moffat and Gatiss are his disciples. **

"What do you mean he went willingly?"

Sherlock didn't like this.

Talking to his brother was bad enough on a good day, but now!

John had been kidnapped by the most dangerous man in London and all the fat sod could do was botch an attempt to get him back.

And then he has the audacity to say John, the best man to ever live, had gone willingly?

His brother was one minute away from having a violin bow shoved up his nose.

"I have him on CCTV getting into that car with out any struggle or attempts to fend off the driver." He rushed to say, knowing his brother well enough to expect some sort of over-dramatic violent reaction.

"That proves nothing!" But Sherlock knew that if Mycroft said he had footage of an event then he actually had several different angles.

"I knew you would say that Sherly, so I made you a copy," producing a memory stick, "you can go over all the evidence for yourself."

Handing the stick to the difficult younger man he sat down in 'Johns' chair'. He would remain until he knew just how his brother would take this sudden betrayal of trust.

Not looking at the older man, and definitely not looking at where he choose to sit, Sherlock grabbed a laptop, Johns', and set up the stick to retrieve the footage.

A four sectioned screen, each with a different angle showing John, popped up.

Hitting play the consulting detective watched as the doctor walked down the street, bumping into buildings and people with uncaring abandon. He watched as the black car, now in NSY's impound lot and riddled with bullet holes, pulled up. A burly man stepped out and guided John to the backseat. The car took off and he knew the rest.

"You're slipping Mycy. Any one could tell that Johns' thinking was impaired before the car ever pulled up. I suggest you review your 'evidence' before throwing it around as gospel."

"I'll have the appropriate people fired at once.

"So what was wrong with our favorite Dr. Watson that he would willingly leave with Moriarty?" He hated having to ask, but his brother needed to be appeased from the earlier accusation of his one and only friend.

"I have been doing an experiment lately that involves keeping John from any form of REM sleep. He has made it four days so far and sleep deprivation should be well under way. That would be what allowed Moriarty to take him without a fight."

Stupid! Stupid! Stupid! This was all his fault! If John had been well rested he may have still been taken, but now? He could hardly walk straight let alone defend himself.

Just then his phone went off, it was Johns number.

Putting his phone on speaker with a pointed look at his brother, Sherlock answered.

"Where are you?"

"Sherly! You don't really expect daddy to answer that do you?"

"Where is he Moriarty?" Gritting his teeth, hating the sound of that maniacs voice; especially when he didn't have the upper hand.

"He's safe. Sleeping soundly I might add.

"Did you know, he never once woke up during that little car stunt? Or even when all those tossers where shooting up my dummy car.

"He just snuggled deeper into my lap and snored. He does have a cute little whistley snore, doesn't he?"

"Give him back Jim." He didn't believe for a moment that John would sleep in the madman's presence, no matter how tired he might be. "Whatever you want from me you don't need my blogger to get it."

"You would think that wouldn't you? But even your own brother knows that the best way to get to you is to go through your pet.

"Isn't that right Iceman? O I know you're there. The Holmes brothers together, worrying over a lowly little doctor.

"Do you know what I'm doing right now? Running my fingers through his short hair. He is a very contented sleeper."

"Stop this. What do you want? Why did you take him?" He kept all emotion from his voice but knew he still sounded desperate. The thought of that monster touching his John made him physically ill.

"Who says I want anything?

"I took him to get you to come out and play, but now I'm just enjoying his company!

"I'm starting to see why you keep him around. He's witty, funny and a blatant flirt! I think I'll keep him awhile."

His blood ran cold. He couldn't lose his doctor. Especially not to this psychopath!

"Stop talking like he went with you willingly! I've already set my fat twat of a bother straight on this: John would never trust you enough to leave with you!"

"He would if he were exhausted."

That hurt. That really hurt! He knew he was why John had not fought back, but to have made him susceptible to Moriarty was simply horrific! This day just couldn't get any worse!

"Don't worry darling! I'll keep him safe for you.

"And once he's well rested again we'll see about a new little game. Maybe 'Doctor! Doctor! Whose Got the Doctor?'

"Until then I'll leave you a little present."

The madman hung up and then his phone buzzed with an incoming message.

It was a picture. A picture of John. John with his head in a Westwood clad lap and his arms wrapped around a trim waist. He was asleep and looked very content with a little smile ghosting around his lips.

Throwing his phone at a started looking 'minor' government official, Sherlock barely made it to bathroom before his stomach betrayed him.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: They are mine! Finally, they are mine! Mwahahahahah! Seriously though, does anyone believe that?**

John woke up at some point, looked around the nice room; then snuggled back under the warm blanket he was wrapped in, not having seen any threats.

Sometime later John woke up fully. Sitting up he took in his surroundings.

He was in a rather plain room- a hotel maybe? There were no personal objects laying around and it seemed to have a disused air about it. Three doors on two of the walls, one just across from the bed and the other two on his right that must lead to a bathroom and closet respectively.

Just as the doctor was considering getting out of bed(he was wearing silk pajamas. He didn't even own silk pajamas!) the door across from him opened.

"Johnny boy, your finally awake! I was beginning to worry you know. You've been dead to the world for nearly sixteen hours now. You wouldn't believe the things you slept through! A car chase and a firefight to start, though when I changed your clothes I had expected some sort of reaction. Do you usually let strangers undress you Johnny?"

John just stared through this little speech.

Moriarty. And he had been kidnapped sixteen hours ago by the sound of it. And what?! The psycho had redressed him?! John tried to feel violated but instead had to push down his arousel. This most definitely was not the time!

"Where am I Moriarty? Why am I here?" He tried to be polite, no point in pissing the criminal off if he didn't have to.

"Ahhh! Johnny! Not this again! And after we had made such progress too.

"Don't you remember? I picked you up in my car, we joked for a while, you started flirting with me and then you fell asleep in my lap! Doesn't this ring any bells sweetheart?"

A denial was on the tip of Johns' tongue, but he paused. He did remember, only it seemed more of a dream than anything else.

"I thought I dreamed all that." He finally told the waiting man.

"Do you normally dream about me John?"

Damn him and than voice of his! John had been doing fine until his name had been said like that, as if it were a fine wine being savored. He was forced to suppress a shiver and he had no doubt that those sharp eyes had noticed.

Returning his attention to the undoubtedly sexy man standing at the foot of his bed John changed the subject- the answer to that question was one he wasn't willing to give.

"So where am I? As nice as this conversation has been I would like to know if I will be free to go anytime soon."

"O your in one of my many safe houses somewhere in the middle of London. Thats all you need to know about that.

"As for how long you'll be staying, thats really up to you. Not a choice you get to make mind. More like your staying here for me to pamper until you're no longer exhausted, either physically or mentally."

"Why? Why would you be nice to me like that?" He knew the answer of course.

"Because I like you Johnny." Nope, didn't expect that answer.

"And it will piss Sherlock off to no end." Thats what he had expected in the first place.

"Now I can see that you're ready to pass out again, so I'll go. There is a personal bath through that door and some warmer clothes in the closet if you don't like silk. Sleep well John."

And with that he turned and left the room. John listened to see if he was going to be locked in but only heard the latch.

Getting out of the bed John had to brace himself on the wall a moment as his head spun.

Making his way to the door he tried the handle, it was open. On the other side was a hallway in the same style as the bedroom: bland. Closing the door again John rested his head against the wood for a moment. He could look for some clothes and shoes, make his way through the flat and out to the street; catch a cab and head back to Baker St. With that thought his entire body sagged.

He was still so tired, and all he wanted to do was crawl back under those warm covers again and go back to sleep. If he went home now he would be pestered non stop by Sherlock, and probably Mycroft as well. He couldn't handle them right now. Not when a soft bed was only few paces away.

Making up his mind John went to the bath, when he was finished he crawled back into the still warm depression he had made and quickly fell into unconsciousness.

At some point John came half awake to the shifting of the bed and rustling of the covers. He had been having a very pleasant dream involving a trampoline, jelly beans and chocolate sauce.

"Shhh. Go back to sleep Johnny, its alright."

The quiet but deep voice from his dream pulled John back into slumber.

"Okay, Jim. But only if you bounce me again. That was nice."

A pair of arms wrapped around his waist and lips forming a smirk pressed into his temple.

"Whatever you want Johnny, whatever you want."


	4. Chapter 4

_AN: Sorry this took so long. Please read and enjoy. AN continued below._

**Disclaimer: You know what? I've run out of witty banter. I don't own, though I wish I did.**

John finally allowed himself to ascend from dreamland when a delicious smell made itself known. Rising he looked over at the other half of the bed and was disappointed to see it empty. Shaking his head he had to tell himself that it had been nothing more than a dream.

Stretching, he put his feet to the floor and headed to the bath. As he undressed he realized he was still wearing his own pants. Feeling a flush creep up his cheeks, John quickly got into the shower.

Once through he went to rummage in the dresser. The first drawer was socks, organized neatly into two clear sections: dress socks and cotton. Picking a pair of cotton he moved to the next drawer.

Here were the pants- his and someone elses. A clear splitting into two halves as before: silk boxers and plain pants. Picking up a pair of the silk undergarments he knew for certain they weren't meant for him; they were for someone thinner and taller. Trying hard not to think of just who the garment belonged to, John placed it back in the drawer and took a plain pair; absently noting that they were his size.

With his underthings taken care of he now went to inspect the closet. He was no longer surprised to see the equal splitting between two different styles. Well tailored suits and a few bits of casual attire on one side, jumpers and jeans on the other. Grabbing an outfit at random, John got dressed.

Finding house shoes in his size at the bottom of the closet, as well as a few regular shoes, he completed his outfit and felt secure enough to investigate that intoxicating odor; which had only intensified as he puttered around the room.

Opening the hall door he could hear noise off to his left and decided to start there. At the end of the hall was a small dinning area, turning to his right he saw the kitchen were the noise and smell was all coming from.

"Have a seat John. Your breakfast is almost ready and I have your tea right here." Jumping slightly at the unexpected voice, John sat at the bar and took in the sight before him.

A Cooking Consultant Criminal, wearing an apron. Dark blue, masculine and well cared for; it was more of a sight than if it had been pink and frilly.

Taking the mug handed to him, and giving an appreciative sip of the hot beverage within, John let himself relax slightly. Only now realizing how tense he was and still so tired. But his stomach came first, and it was definitely making itself known. He was starving!

"I didn't know you could cook." He felt safe with this comment. Sherlock couldn't make toast to save his life, and John just assumed that, since the two were alike in so many ways, that Jim couldn't either.(Moriarty, not Jim! Get it together man! It was only a dream after all.)

"There is a lot you don't know about me. And you shouldn't compare me to Sherlock, I have manners after all." Giving John a pointed look he turned back just as a timer off.

"Cinnamon rolls are done!" He pulled a huge tray from the oven and placed it on a cooling rack. "I'll ice those once there cool, but for now you need something more substantial than sweets."

Platter after platter was placed in front of the startled doctor.

"What is all this?" He asked as he excepted a plate and utensils.

"Eggs- runny and scrambled, bacon, sausage, french toast, waffles, crêpes, hash browns, oatmeal, fruit medley, toast, three kinds of jam- strawberry, raspberry and blackberry, as well as syrups- maple, butter and pineapple. Plus cinnamon rolls for dessert."

"Pineapple?"

"I like pineapple." Of course you do, thought the hungry man.

"Why did you make so much?"

"I knew you would be hungry but I didn't know exactly what you would want. I may be a genius, but I am not an omnisient god. I cannot reach conclusions without data and your eating habits have never been a concern of mine before now."

Letting his grumbling stomach take over, John began to dig into the surprisingly delicious food.

"This is amazing!" as he took a bite of a perfectly formed crêpe. "Where did you learn to cook like this?"

Noticing he was being watched and eating alone he asked "Aren't you having any?"

"I ate as I cooked, I'm fine. And no need to worry, I am not poisoning you. As for where I learned- that would be Paris." With that he picked up his own mug.

"Paris? France?"

"Is there anywhere else?" The smug smirk set fire to John, and he couldn't say it was a bad thing.

"Well, I just can't imagine you taking lessons is all, at least I couldn't before. Why are you acting so odd?"

"Odd how? And keep eating Johnny, you need your strength."

"Odd in that you are not acting at all like you did at the pool." Taking a bite of eggs. This really was an amazing breakfast.

"Ah yes, the pool. The place where I first met you and dear Sherlock. Where I had to make a lasting impression. Yes, I did act differently there didn't I?"

"It was all an act?" Stunned, he was stunned.

"Of course! As fake as that bomb jacket had been." Seeing the stunned and unbelieving expression on his newly acquired doctors' face made the criminal smile.

"You don't really think I would let myself be blown to smithereens, do you? No. It was all a bluff to see what Sherly would do, and he didn't disappoint. Neither did you, as it happens."

Ignoring the last bit so he wouldn't give himself away, John focused on what seemed to be the important part.

"A fake bomb. Really?"

"Why do you think it disappeared before anyone could take a close look at it? I couldn't let Sherlock know it was fake. Think of the smugness he would exude."

"Smugness?"

"Don't play naïve, John. It doesn't suit you.

"But yes, smugness. That he was willing to blow himself up while his greatest rival showed common sense. The idiot."

That last made John pause for a moment, and then he broke out laughing; nearly choking on some half chewed bacon. At some point Jim joined in and the unspoken tension in the room disappeared. Looking down John noticed he had cleared most of the spread without realizing it and was now quite full, as well as sleepy.

"Go lay down in the sitting room while I clean up. Its just down that hall and to the right." He pointed to a doorway on the other side of the kitchen. As John was getting up to comply he knew he just had to ask.

"You're going to do your own cleaning? Really?"

"What did I say about comparing me to your flatmate? Now go." As he said this he began to remove dishes and fill the sink with water.

Finding the sitting room where it was supposed to be, John settled into the rather comfortable couch. Bland again, he thought. Looking at the blank tv, and wondering where the remote might be, John didn't notice his eyelids getting heavy.

When Moriarty finally came in he couldn't help but smile.

Placing a blanket over the sleeping ex-soldier, and taking a picture to irritate Sherlock(who was he kidding, it was just for him), Jim settled on the other end of he three seater.

"Well Johnny, you're still being interesting." He turned the tv on and settled in to watch some muted Doctor Who.

JWJMJWJMJWJMJWJMJWJMJWJM

When John woke up, again, he felt mildly irritated. He hated sleeping so much.

Looking around the room he noticed the tv on and showing a silent news cast. He turned it off and began to wonder where his 'host' was. His answer came in the form of a yell.

"In the kitchen, John. Watercloset is the first door on your left as you come this way."

Standing and stretching John made his way to the indicated room and finally to the kitchen. Only to find Jim cooking once again. Taking an iced cinnamon roll from the pile on the counter, he asked:

"Do you always cook this much?"

He must still be partly asleep, he realized, to have talked to his kidnapper in such a manner. Though he hadn't experienced much of 'being kidnapped' in his stay so far. Jim only smirked as he replied:

"Not usually. It's mostly myself and I don't eat much. Nor do I normally take the time to prepare my own meals. It is nice to have someone appreciate my skills though." Here he looked down at the second bun John had taken without realizing he had taken it. "Don't spoil your appetite, dinners almost done."

"Dinner? I only just had breakfast."

"I made you breakfast. It was past noon when you ate it. Now it is almost eight in the evening and I am making us some supper."

"Just how long have I been here?"

"Thirty-four hours."

"What?"

"Calm down. You're a doctor, you are suffering the after effects of exhaustion. What do you suppose you should be doing?"

"Eating, sleeping, trying to build up my reserves again."

"Okay then. Now, if you have the energy to spare, could you set the table; I'm almost done."

Setting the table for two, John reflected anew on the differences he now saw between Moriarty from the pool and Jim in the kitchen.

Sitting down to eat- roast beef, baby red potatoes, fresh greens and handmade yeast rolls- John had to ask:

"So what am I really doing here?"

"What do you mean?"

"Naivete looks worse on you than it does on me."

"I would still appreciate you being more specific."

"Okay. Why am I here, in this flat, with you? You could have just had one of your men look after me, or left me to rot in a hole. But instead I am being pampered in relative luxury by the most wanted man in Britain, if not the world. So I ask: why am I here?"

"I don't know."

"What?"

"I don't know why you're here. I hadn't planned to take care of you, I just couldn't help myself. I want to say I'm doing this solely to irritate the Holmes brothers, but I can't. The more time I spend around you makes more time I want to spend with you. You have a very comfortable presence." He looked at his plate, refusing to make to make eye contact with the doctor.

"Moriarty... Jim. Look at me. Please."

The criminal reluctantly lifts his head, sullen to have given so much away.

"I understand." A scoff, "I do!

"I keep having to remind myself that I have been kidnapped. That I am in the presence of a world class criminal, the best at what he does." He had to look down, he was the one who couldn't keep eye contact anymore.

"And thats the thing isn't it. I keep having to remind myself. The more time I spend with you, the more I forget and keep only seeing the best cook I have ever met. Or the man who put me to bed and took care of me when I couldn't do it myself." Taking a deep breath and slowly letting it back out,

"And I don't know what to do with that."

Neither spoke and they finished dinner in silence.

After the table was cleared and the dishes done- John helped, he insisted- they went to the sitting room for some crap telly. John was surprised that Jim never yelled, only predicted the outcomes and silently gloated when he was right.

John began to grow anxious, and so decided to say his piece and let things fall where they may.

"Jim."

"Yeah."

"I know it's a stupid question, but..."

"Yeah?"

"If I were to kiss you-!"

He never got a chance to finish as his words were quickly swallowed by another mouth that clamped hard onto his own.

_AN continued: Just letting you know my rating is going to change to M with the next chapter. So if you don't like smut then the next chapter is not one for you._

_If anyone cares about the timeline it goes as thus:_

_Mid-morning, 10am-ish: John is kidnapped_

_Sixteen hours later, 2am-ish: John has his chat in bed_

_Ten hours after that, noonish the second day: John finally leaves his room_


	5. Chapter 5

_AN: If you don't do smut then skip this chapter, because thats all it is. Smut. Smut. Smutty. Smut. Smut. Smut._

**Disclaimer: You know the drill by now!**

The kiss quickly became heated. Tongues darted out to play against each other, moans that neither could tell who made.

"Bed, Now!" They spoke at the same time and stared at each other a beat before quickly jumping from the couch and making their way towards the bedroom.

Pushing each other into walls and door frames, tearing at each others clothes, by the time they fell onto the bed all either of them had on was his pants.

"If we're going to fast we can stop Johnny." This was said as he slowly tongued a strip of flesh on Johns' neck.

"Aahnn! Ohhh... if you say anything so stupid again I'll hit you!" A quiet chuckle and a bite to his earlobe were his only response.

Swift hands played with the hard nubs of the doctors nipples while a knee pressed between his legs causing the man to turn into a moaning, writhing mess.

"Just fucking fuck me already!" He was too turned on for foreplay, he needed Jim inside him and soon.

"Already? But we only just met." This teasing reply came with an innocent look that nearly did John in right there.

"You know that I've bloody well wanted you for a while now! Now stop teasing and get inside me!" He received another nibble to his ear before the grinning man pulled back.

"Alright, I'll need you to turn over then."

Removing his pants and getting on all fours John waited.

"Have you ever done this before, Johnny?" Jim asked as he pulled condoms and lube from the bedside drawer.

"A couple of times in Uni."

"Then this may hurt a bit."

Slicking two fingers on his right hand and setting the tube aside for now, Jim leaned forward and gave a lick to the tightly puckered hole, causing John to jump.

"W-w-what the hell?"

"Just making sure you're still with me." John could feel the smile and hot breath on his cheek, causing him to shiver.

"Jim-" John started but was cut off by a finger slipping inside him.

As muscles clamped down around his finger, Jim ran his slick thumb across the perineum to help his lover relax and stoke his fires a bit more. As the muscles relaxed a bit he began to move. Slowly, in and out, searching for the magic spot.

"Ahhh! Jim! God!" He had found it.

Adding a second finger he began to open John up, hitting that spot at random intervals to keep interest going.

Once able to fit three fingers in he thought his work was about done. John quickly confirmed this.

"Damn it, Jim! Fuck me now! Or I swear I will flip us over and take what I want!"

The command in that otherwise calm voice sent shivers down the genius' spine. Backing off the bed to remove the rest of his clothes, he quickly crawled back up.

Opening a condom he rolled it over his neglected and leaking member. Pouring plenty of lube over himself, Jim lined himself up with John.

With one great push he sunk hilt deep into the tightest heat he had ever felt.

Pausing to give them both time to adjust, he didn't even try to stop the groan the escaped his lips.

"So damn tight! You feel so good John."

"Jim, move!" John wiggled his hips, eliciting a moan from both of them.

Grabbing those enticing hips, Jim decided he had been goaded into action enough. It was time to take charge again!

Instead of thrusting, he began to circle his hips. Moving until he found that one sweet spot.

"J-J-Jim, w-what are you-"

Jim didn't respond, just kept circling his hips; grinding down into that sensitive bundle of nerves.

"Damn! Fuck! Buggering hell!" John couldn't articulate what he was feeling. His body was on fire with pleasure and the grip on his hips the only thing keeping him from pushing back onto that wonderful rod deep inside him.

"Jim! Please!" Was his last coherent statement as his arms gave out. He lay face down in the pillows, small mewling sounds and moans the only noises making themselves known.

Jim reached around and grabbed the sorely neglected prick hanging there, but not to stroke. Oh no, he was much too evil for that. Taking a firm hold at the base, he could now prevent John from coming, Jim added more pressure to his grinding.

This was torture for the criminal. Not thrusting into the waiting heat surrounding him was taking everything he had. But there was no doubt as to who was more affected.

As Johns' moans turned into half formed whimpers, Jim couldn't take it any more. Removing himself from the perfect body below him he waited a moment to release the hot cock in his hands, not wanting John to come too soon.

Slowly, and as carefully as he could in his highly aroused state, Jim rolled the doctor onto his back. Grabbing the unresisting mans legs he lifted them up.

Now on his back with his legs pressed to his chest, John watched as the most amazing lover he had ever had sank back inside him.

Raising an unsteady arm, John pulled the other man down for a passionate kiss. Slowly at first, and then faster and faster, he was fucked into the mattress.

Panting breaths, babbled cries of each others' names, a growing sense of need with every sharp thrust; neither wanted it to ever end.

An unexpected hit to his prostrate sent John over the edge. Coming over his stomach without a single touch to his prick left John boneless and sated.

Only a few thrusts into the clenching muscles had Jim following suit, regretting the condom as he wanted to claim John in this most intimate fashion.

Leaning forward for an exhausted kiss, Jim pulled out holding the prophylactic carefully; they didn't need any drama right now.

As they lay there in the post orgasmic haze John felt blissed. Feeling Jim get out of bed, but not having the energy to open his eyes and see where he was going, the highly debauched doctor started drifting off.

A warm sensation woke him from his light dose and he managed to open his eyes. Jim had gone to get a wash cloth and was now cleaning John of the mess they had made.

With a happy, lazy hum, John grabbed Jim and pulled him into another kiss.

Throwing the soiled rag to the floor, he would deal with it in the morning, the most wanted man in Britain wrapped his arms around his lover and fell asleep.


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: If only. Right people?**

John woke up to an empty bed, but he wasn't upset; or even surprised. He could already smell baking in the air.

His first thought of the day was: I could get used to this.

Getting up he remembered fully the night before. He sank back to the bed on unsteady legs and waited before trying again. He had been through worse, if not recently or in that one specific location.

Making his way to the shower, John couldn't help but see the large love bite under his left ear in the mirror. He didn't even remember that!

With a smile the doctor turned the water on as hot as he could and let the warmth soothe abused muscles.

Coming back to the bed room, and feeling much better than when he had gone in, John noticed the bed was made and some light clothes set out. Along with a very nice(was that egyptian cotton?) robe.

Dressed, it was time to see what his personal chef had whipped up this morning.

John had to suppress a giggle at that. Personal chef indeed!

The dinning table was already set for two, and John knew his chair on sight; it was the one with the cushion.

Sitting down slowly and gratefully, he had noticed his limp while coming down the hall- not psychosomatic this time!- and didn't want to undo any of the good the shower had done him.

"Good morning, John!"

"Hey, yeah, morning. Something smells good."

"I'll bring it over in a minute. Here's your tea. Are you all right?"

"Yeah. Why?" Taking a sip of his tea he felt envy, even he couldn't make tea this good.

"John. Please." The pointed look made the sore man blush and shift uncomfortably. Shifting made him realize anew how sore he was and why, and he blushed deeper.

A soft pair of lips on his own stopped John's looping thoughts and pulled him into the moment. As he was reaching a hand to tangle into short hair and deepen the kiss the other mouth withdrew.

"Later. I still need to fill you up." Popping that last 'p' and the lewd look that was sent over his compact body started John blushing again.

Smirking at his flustered lover, Jim retreated to the kitchen to grab breakfast. Omelettes today as well as ham slices, more toast and jam(Johnny really seemed to like that) and fresh squeezed orange juice to go along with the tea. He really liked watching John eat his cooking.

Digging into the meal with gusto, Jim really was a world class cook, he felt eyes on him.

ULooking up he saw a pair of dark eyes staring at him from across the table. Feeling self conscious one thought came into his mind and he spoke it before thinking.

"I feel like such a slut." The small grin on his companions face turned into a full blown smirk.

"Well Johnny, you were acting like one so-" He was barely able to dodge the piece of toast that flew at his head, his smirk never leaving his face.

"Shut up. You were no help, Mr. Handsey!" John was smirking now too. This was different from his back and forth with Sherlock, and he couldn't say he didn't enjoy this just as much if not more.

"What do you mean?" The mock innocent expression that accompanied that statement nearly had John grabbing the other man and dragging him back to the bedroom for a memory refresher.

Instead he simply growled and took bite of his perfect omelette. After a minute he found his voice again.

"So what now?"

"Now?"

"Don't play games, Jim. I may not be a genius, but I'm not entirely stupid. This changes things." He indicated the space between them with his fork.

"I don't think you're stupid, John." The statement, as well as the serious tone it was said in, threw the doctor.

"Really? And don't change the subject."

"Really. And I'm not. You're not stupid, you have just never had the chance to live up to your potential I think."

"What?" Now the ex-soldier was truly lost.

"You are a doctor, John. A Doctor. You need a good amount of intellect to get into med school, let alone achieve your licence. But then you joined the army."

"I needed to pay for school..."

"I know. And in the army they taught you that standing out, being different, could get you killed. So you learned to blend in, dumbing yourself down to fit in with the herd.

"And after years of playing dumb you get out and what happens? You move in with Sherly. A man who has crushed your every attempt to nurture your intellect back to life. And whose insults have you believing yourself not nearly as intelligent as you are."

Trying not to think about how good it felt to be complemented for once, instead of constantly put down, John focused on only a small portion of what had been said.

"Are- are you trying to drive a wedge between Sherlock and I? Because if you are..."

"Hardly. If I wanted to come between you two I wouldn't simply reference his past treatment of you. No. I would start telling you of his most recent experiments, and of those he has planned for the future."

"What experiments?"

"Nothing you won't be able to figure out when you go back." That brought John back to the original thought that had started this whole conversation.

"So, I will be going back then?" He really couldn't say if he was happy or sad with this news.

"Of course. As you said, last night changed things.

"I will not keep you against your will, or try to make you do anything you don't want to do. I am neither a sadist nor a rapist, and you are far to important for any games, John."

"How do you mean?" Only receiving a Look, John went back to his meal.

John couldn't suppress a happy, bubbly, feeling. Even if his new lover was a crazed psychopath- wait. Was he?

John thought about everything he had been told about Moriarty as well as all his own observations. And then added in everything he was learning about Jim. None of the equations matched up to the answer given.

"You're not crazed or psychopathic at all, are you?" It was more statement than question.

The twinkling in the others' eyes was all the answer he needed.

"You see? You're not nearly as dumb as you've been led to believe."

And with that the not-psycho man began clearing the empty dishes. John tried to help but backed off when given a stern 'Sit!'.

So he sat, carefully, and watched his- boyfriend? Were they ready for titles?- bussel around the kitchen, cleaning up and doing the dishes.

A tall blue coated cloud was the only dark spot in John's contented mood, its name was Sherlock.

But he wouldn't worry about anything like that right now. He was still recovering, and now had a new lover to spend time with. And it wasn't as if he were going to speak to the man anytime soon.

"Oh, John, I almost forgot. I fixed your phone up, it's here in the kitchen. Feel free to call whomever you want."


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: Believe it or not, I don't own them. Nor do I own anything else that isn't the plot.**

_"Oh, John, I almost forgot. I fixed your phone up, it's here in the kitchen. Feel free to call whomever you want."_

John stood from the table and made his way to the bar.

"My phone?"

"Yes. Here ya go." John took the unremarkable piece of technology. It didn't look any different.

"You fixed it?" And why was he giving it back at all?

"I removed the spyware, Mycroft's doing I would imagine, and disabled the GPS. Plus, now if anyone tries to track or trace your phone they'll be directed to Birmingham, South Carolina in the States."

"Birmingham."

"I liked the name."

"Okay. But why are you giving it to me now?" He was really confused.

"I was going to give it to you yesterday, but you could barely keep your eyes open. So I saved it for today."

"Yes. But why?"

"Really, John? It's so you can make calls, connect with your life while you recover, I wouldn't want to be separated from my phone and I didn't expect you would want to be either."

"Yes. Thank you! I do appreciate it, it's just a shock is all. I wasn't expecting outside contact to be allowed. What if I give something away? What if I say something that gets you arrested?"

As much as he wanted to call a few people, check in with their lives and touch base, he really didn't want to do something that would hurt Jim in the long run.

They may have only just fallen into bed together, but this was already the most stable relationship he had had in a long while.

"You can't tell what you don't know."

"But-"

"Where are you, John?" He thought about it a moment.

"I haven't a clue."

"Now how can you tell someone how to get here if you don't know where here is?"

"You got me." John was smiling at this point.

Unlike when Sherlock broke things down for him, Jim wasn't disdainful or condescending. He expected John to keep up yeah, but didn't attempt to leave him in the dust either.

"Now make your calls. I need to check on the surprise in the oven."

"Hey, yeah. What smells so good?"

"If I told you what the surprise was, it wouldn't be a surprise anymore now would it?"

"Fine." But John watched as that delectable bum pushed into the air while Jim bent over the open oven to hide the contents.

"Like what you see, Johnny boy?" Giving a little shake to his rump before straightening up again.

"More and more everyday." Was that a blush on Mr. Moriartys' cheeks he saw? Nah, had to be a flush from bending over a hot oven.

As the master criminal set his kitchen to rights, John decided to make a couple of calls.

"And you're sure that the calls cannot be traced, yeah?"

"Yes, I am positive. Not even the British Government could locate you using that phone. Okay?"

With a smile John went through his contact listing, he would put the consultants' claim to the test.

Only a couple of rings and then the other end picked up.

"Hello."

"Good morning, Mycroft." The wide eyed look he got from his lover would be totally worth the headache he would get from this conversation.

"John? Where are you? I'll have a car pick you up immediately. I take you are not, in fact, in South Carolina? Are you hurt? Do I need to send a medical crew?"

"Mycroft! Shut it, for a moment!" Jim threw a hand over his mouth and turned away, but John could see his shoulders shaking in suppressed laughter.

"I'm fine. I don't know where I'm at, but I don't need pick up anyway. Mr. Moriarty is giving me a place to stay while I recover and I have taken him up on his kind offer."

Jim had stopped laughing and had started giving him strange looks after he had mentioned him by name.

"And he gave you your phone?"

"Yeah, I was surprised too. Listen Mycroft, I'm still in no condition to return to Baker street at the moment, but I was wondering if you could give me an update on Sherlock before I call him. Just so I know what to expect."

"He has been looking for you since the moment you were taken. How do you think he is?" And with that he hung up.

"Well, its hard to imagine; but I do believe Sherlock has more manners." Looking over at Jim, who was still staring oddly, John gave a smirk.

"Like what you see, Jimmy boy." The dark haired man seemed to shake himself out of wherever it was he had gone.

"Say it again, Johnny." He started to stalk towards the seated man, and damn if it wasn't incredibly hot.

"Say what?" John knew exactly what Jim wanted, but HE wanted to play a bit longer.

"Johhhnnnnyyyy! Say my name!" He was close enough now to rest his hands on impressively muscular thighs.

"Jim? Or perhaps you prefer Jimmy?"

"Joooohhhhhn!"

"Mr. Moriarty." He spoke in a low tone and was rewarded by a sharp intake of breath from the other man.

"Do you know how sexy that sounds when you say it?" Came the verbal response.

"No I don't, Mr. Moriarty. Why don't you show me?"

Just as their lips locked Johns' phone went off. It was Sherlock.

JWJMJWJMJWJMJWJMJWJMJWJM

"Only when I'm having fun." Said John, looking at the caller ID.

"Answer it. He should know by now that you spoke to Mycroft, and, as much as I would like to see him go crazy if you don't answer, it's probably better if you do."

Giving a last peck to soft lips John answered the phone.

"Hey Sherlock."

"Hey Sherlock? Hey Sherlock?! Is that all you have to say? Not a word on your whereabouts for three days, and then you call Mycroft of all people. What were you thinking John?"

Meanwhile, through this little rant, John was watching Jims' ass sway away as he headed back onto the kitchen side of the counter.

"What? Oh. I was thinking that I am still exhausted and would rather deal with your rude brother than with your hysterics. I was nearly dead on my feet when I got pick up Sherlock. Recovery takes time and quiet, neither of which are in high supply with you around."

"I'm sorry, John."

"Yeah, well, give me another week and I might be fit enough to come home."

"A week?!"

"Yes, and until then I am not answering my phone every time you call, or replying to every text you send. I am in recovery Sherlock, no matter where that is taking place."

"Fine. Just assure me that you haven't been tortured to say all this and I'll believe you."

"Would you really?"

"No."

"That's better than nothing I guess. Alright: I have not been- in any way, shape or form- coerced into saying anything against my will or against the truth of my situation. Is that enough or do you need me to continue?"

"That's fine. I still want to know where you are."

"How close were you to boarding a plane to the states?" The dark haired man in the kitchen started scribbling something on a pad, laughing once more.

"I never thought you left the country." Jim held up the pad.

"You bought tickets! Sherlock. Coach? Really?"

"It was all they had available. He's there now isn't he?"

"Who?"

"Put him on, John." He handed the phone over to the newly composed criminal.

"Sherly! How nice to here from you again!"

He was back at the pool. Strapped to a bomb with a madman about to blow him and his flatmate up.

No, the bomb hadn't been real! Jim was here. Moriarty was all an act, a performance.

He was safe! And so was Sherlock.

Warm hands cradled his face.

"Johnny. Come back to me, John. Please come back." Soft lips pressed to his temple and cheek, moving over his eyelids and nose before finally finding his mouth.

The kiss lasted a little while, until John had calmed down and come back to the here and now.

"Does this happen often?" No questions. No lengthy discussions on PTSD. Just acceptance. Even Sherlock had required explanations John hadn't been comfortable with.

Wrapping his arms around his lovers' waist, John held on to the only thing that anchored him to reality at the moment.

"Not often. But I can never predict when they might."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. I didn't think your psycho voice would trigger me, I've never flashed back to the pool before."

"Still, I'm sorry." John just held tighter, breathing in the wonderfully warm scent of Jim; and letting go of the smell of chlorine and fear.

"So what did Sherlock want?" He wanted to change the subject.

"O, you know, the usual. If I lay one hand on you he'll- something or other I stopped paying attention to him after a while." A timer went off.

Slowly extracting himself from the shaken doctor, Jim went to the oven to pull his surprise out.

"Is that a cobbler?"

"Yep. Mixed berry."

"That is my favorite flavor ever. My Gran used to make it every Sunday when I was little. How did you know?"

"I have my ways, Johnny. Now lets let it cool for a little bit before we dig in. I even have ice-cream to go with it."

"Strawberry?" He couldn't know. It was just too odd a combination for anyone to get right the first time.

"Of course. My research is thorough, John. Now lets go find something on telly to watch. Or I can find something on the computer if you have anything in particular you would like to see." About to say that anything was fine, John paused.

His tastes were a little all over the place, though most, possibly not even Sherlock, could guess just how much.

There was something he had seen many years ago and loved. If it could be found, and Jim liked it too, then that would be another step taken in this burgening relationship.

"There is something I would enjoy watching, but I don't know if you can find it."

"I can find anything. Just give me a title and I'll do the rest."

"Okay. It's 'Operade Bela Bartok' or else called-"

"'Bluebeard's Castle' by Bella Bartok"

"You know it?"

"Of course I know it! It's one of my favorites!"

"So you have it?"

"Now that is a silly question, of course I have it! Let me grab my laptop, I'll meet you in the sitting room." With that Jim took off in the direction of the bed room, presumably to get his laptop.

With a smile, and a longing look at the cooling cobbler, John limped lightly to his spot on the couch. The limp was annoying, but was so worth having got.

His phone buzzed, it had several times now. Looking at it John saw he had forty-two unread messages, all from Sherlock.

With a sigh John turned his phone off. He didn't like doing so, but he didn't want anything to interrupt his opera time with his- boyfriend? Yes, with his boyfriend.


	8. Chapter 8

_AN: Second half of this chapter is smut, so if you don't like it you can skip it._

**Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock or 'Blackbeards Castle'**

Sitting on the sofa, eating cobbler ala mode, discussing opera; if anyone asked, John would say that this was the life to lead.

"Judith was idiotic."

"She was in love. She had every right to be idiotic. It was just her bad luck to fall for Blackbeard."

"She knew what he was before she went with him. How can you defend her, John?"

"I don't know, maybe I just like to believe in love. But I can admit she got what she deserved in the end."

"Come on. Judith didn't deserve to die. She may have been nosy, and should have stopped when he told her to, but he didn't need to kill her."

"He was crazy, and he didn't exactly kill her did he. Set her up as a mannequin with his other wives. At least he swore she would be his last."

"And you believe that? Come on."

And so it went.

When Jim had first set up the tv connection to his laptop he had been all for turning on the translation for John, that had been quickly vetoed.

"If you studied in France I'm sure you speak the language and I know that I do. Now sit down and start the movie, its been too long since I last saw it."

They watched in a companionable silence, not paying mind to the fact that they were slowly getting closer on the couch, or that they were each singing along to their favorite parts.

After Judith's odd demise Jim got up from his seat, practically in Johns' lap, and went to dish them up their sweet treat.

Sitting again, and enjoying each others' company and conversation more than expected, it took a few bites before John had to comment:

"Damn Jim! If I didn't know better I'd swear you stole my Grans' recipe. This is amazing!"

"Its just an old French recipe, nothing special. But I do try my best, thank you."

"You're welcome."

"So, where did you learn French, John?"

By this point the cobbler was done and the were just cuddling together on the sofa.

"My Gran.

"She fled France just before the occupation, she was just a teenager at the time, but she never forgot her roots.

"I can still remember her flying around the kitchen, making one of her mothers recipes. Her family cookbook was the only thing she managed to hold onto. I've always wondered where it got off to."

He was starting to fell melancholy, he really wished he had that book; it had been such a large part of her life.

"And she taught you French at her apron strings." He pulled himself back to the conversation.

"Yeah, kinda. She would talk to herself while she baked, and I grew up listening to her and trying to follow what she said.

"The first time I tried to talk back I was maybe... four? Well, she decided right then that if I was going to learn then she would teach me, and I would feel the crack of her wooden spoon on my knuckles if I didn't learn quickly."

He chuckled at the memory. For such a small woman she had had such passion. Even now, years later, he was still in awe of her.

"She taught me to speak, read and write in french. Her practice sessions would have me in the kitchen with her, writing down all the stories she could remember of her youth; she would look them over after and tell me any mistakes I might have made.

"By the time I was twelve she declared me fluent." The party she had thrown with all her best cooking had been incredible.

"A week before she died, she made me swear that I would travel to her hometown one day. Just to see the sights she had told me about and to make memories of my own in rolling hills she had loved so much.

"Of course I promised, and I also swore to take her with me." The sad look she had given him, like she knew her time was almost up, it had haunted his nightmares for years after her death. Like, perhaps he could have done something, if he had only known how.

"And have you gone to her hometown?"

"No. I've never even set foot in France."

"Why not?" Yes, why hadn't he?

"Fear, I think. Fear of not finding what she wanted me to find. Or perhaps fear of finding it."

"What did she want you to find?" He had to think for a moment, he had never put any of these thoughts into words before so it was hard to express them.

"A place to belong, I believe. She loved her country so much, she never felt that she truly belonged here. I think she wanted me to go there and find that sense of home that she had lost. Now, sometimes, I understand what she meant when she said things like that."

"Are you lost, John?"

"Sometimes. On nights when there is nothing to do and no one to understand me, I just..."

"I'm right here, if you ever want to talk about it, but don't force it. Nothing good will happen if we force this topic."

"Thank you."

A soft kiss turned into a deeper one. And another. Until they were pawing at each others' clothing, needing to touch skin.

Needy hands roved over thinly clad muscles. Hot lips left bruising trails down lightly tanned skin.

"Ohh... if you keep marking me I may never be able to face Sherlock."

"Hmm. Maybe that's my plan, but lets not talk about him right now. I have something far more interesting planned for your mouth."

"You- Ahhnn!" He was cut off by a hot hand on the aching bulge between his legs. "Oooo!"

"No more talking." Jim dipped his head to pepper kisses over Johns' adams apple.

John needed more skin on skin contact, he started pulling at the other mans shirt tails; trying to get it off.

Pulling back and sitting up, Jim pulled his shirt off. He then leaned back in to help John out of his robe and shirt.

Taking a moment, they just looked at one another; they had been far too distracted the night before to do so.

John began to feel self-conscious as Jims' eyes fell on his scar.

"May I touch it, Johnny?" John hesitated.

It wasn't as if it hurt to the touch, though it had a dull ache that never really went away. It was just that it was such an intimate part of him, even if it was ugly; all raised ridges and pink tissue covering his whole shoulder and part of his chest, like a creeping pink starfish.

All Johns' girlfriends had been disgusted by it, and they would break up soon after it was revealed.

Sherlock on the other hand was fascinated by it, and wanted him to show it off at every opportunity; though John had never, and probably would never, let the man touch it.

Bracing himself for the revulsion to come, he gave a nod.

Hot lips on the terrible scar made John startle.

"Thank you for sharing this with me, I know it couldn't have been easy."

"Y-yeah. Well..." He could feel himself start to blush at the tenderness being lavished on his most despised feature.

Another kiss to the raised flesh and then Johns' lips were being ravished once more.

Mouths clashing, hands slipping over sweat slick skin, breathy moans at every touch; bodies moving in sync, grinding, needing more of each other.

"Jim! Stop. I-I-I'm gonna...!"

Panting, Jim pulled back.

"So soon? Do I really have such an effect on you, Johnny boy?" His smirk was full of amusement.

"We don't want this to end too soon do we now?" As he palmed Johns' heavy erection through his pajama bottoms.

"Jim! Please!"

"Please? Please, what?"

"Please! I need more!"

With that exclamation ringing through the flat, Jim pulled off Johns' bottoms and dipped low to mouth at the tent of his pants.

"J-Jim. Damn you, you tease!"

With a laugh and a small nip to the cloth covered flesh, the dark haired man kissed his way back up the muscles of his lovers' body.

"You've stayed in remarkable shape, Johnny. How do you manage?" Kissing an ear and nibbling on the lobe, gaining small cooing noises from the dangerously sexy ex-soldier under him.

"Old habits, I guess. Oh, right there. I just never got out of the habit of keeping fit. Though I will admit to a loss of stamina." A playful smirk stretched his lips.

"No staying power, Johnny? I'll have to do something about that."

He bit down on the sensitive flesh just below the ear he was sucking on.

Lavishing the new bruise with his tongue, he hooked his thumbs in his lovers waist band. Quickly pulling down John's pants, Jim swallowed the swollen member whole.

"Aaahhhnn! Jiimmm!"

Trying not to smile and lose the wonderful suction he now had, Jim began to bob his head; tickling his nose in Johns' pubic hair on every down stroke.

Knowing he wouldn't last long, and not caring at this point, John curled his fingers in short brown locks, letting himself go to the pleasure being given to him.

Feeling John shudder with every long suck, and hearing him gasp with every deep-throated vibration, Jim decided to end the delicious torture he was dishing out.

He swallowed.

"Ahh! O, God! Jim! God! Ahhhh!" He came. Hard and loud, down his boyfriends' throat.

After, he lay panting. Too spent to care how indecent he looked.

For Jims' part, he loved it. The salty sweet taste John had, the way he gasped out Jims' name as he came, how he sprawled afterwards completely spent.

Jim took in the delectable sight in front of him and knew he could never give this up. All he had to do now was convince John.

Giving the doctor a few moments to catch his breath and come back down to reality, all Jim could think of was: Mine!

Opening his eyes and watching the amazing figure of his lover watch him, all John could think of was: Mine!

Leaning forward, he grabbed Jims' waist band.

"My turn."


	9. Chapter 9

_AN: Just thought we could use some cracky goodness by this point. Enjoy!_

**Disclaimer: At this point you know the routine.**

Waking up, John had a moment of disorientation; until the body on top of him shifted.

Oh yeah... now he remembered.

Opera, cobbler, sex and a nap. A perfect morning.

Looking down at the naked man laying on top of him, they were only half covered by Johns' robe, he couldn't stop his smile.

He could still taste the salty, slightly bitter, taste of Jims' seed in his mouth; but that only made John smile more.

"If you stretch your face any wider it could split open." Came the half mumbled comment from around his chest area.

"And how do you know? You haven't even opened your eyes." A huff of air and a firmer grip on his waist were the only responses to his flippant comment.

Wrapping his own arms around this incredible man, John settled back to sleep some more.

Just as he was about to drift off he remembered his phone, he had turned it off.

Sherlock was probably going nuts.

Releasing one arm, he retrieved his phone from the floor and turned it on.

He watched as all his new calls and messages flashed to life across his screen.

He began to laugh.

As he searched through everything his laughter got steadily worse, finally waking the groggy man on his chest.

"What is it Johnny?"

"Its-its-its-" He couldn't get it out.

Taking a deep breath, he calmed himself enough to speak.

"It's Sherlock." This only got him a raised eyebrow, that nearly sent him into hysterics again for no reason.

"I have fourteen missed calls: one from Mycroft, three from Greg and ten from Sherlock."

"Greg. That DI you hang out with? The one sleeping with the Ice Man?"

"What? Ice Man? Mycroft? Greg and Mycroft? No way!"

"They've been lovers about a year now. Don't worry, even Sherly doesn't know yet."

"Huh. Just proves Greg isn't as dumb as Sherlock complains he is."

"I'm glad you're starting to see he isn't infallible on the determination of idiocy."

"Yeah, anyway. I also received three hundred and eighty-two texts. Three hundred and sixty-seven from Sherlock!"

"And I' m supposed to be the creepy stalker type. Who are the other fifteen from?"

"Various people. Co-workers, Greg and Mycroft again, Mrs. Hudson even; I'll reply to all of those."

"And Sherlys'?"

"I'll send him something later. He deserves to stew awhile for giving me sleep deprivation."

"You knew?"

"Not until I talked to him. Though you gave me my first clue, alluding to his most recent experiments."

"And what clue did a phone call give you?"

"He apologized.

"He never does so willingly or quickly, unless he is feeling major guilt. And he did so after I mentioned needing to recover. It wasn't really hard to figure out at that point."

"Do you see my point now?"

"Point?"

"Don't play dumb, John, you've done that long enough."

"Fine. But, yeah, it does feel nice to have someone encouraging me to use my brain; instead of just running over me all the time."

"You're welcome. Now go back to sleep." The criminal pillowed his head back onto a well-formed pictorial.

"What? Not going to cook lunch?"

"We'll order in."

Ding!

"And turn off your phone."

Returning his phone to the floor after hitting the power button, John rewraps his arms around his... boyfriend. He better clarify this for his own piece of mind.

"Hey."

"Huh?"

"Do you mind if I call you my boyfriend?"

He would take the sudden crashing of lips on his own as an affirmative.

Finally, after backing away for air, he got a verbal response.

"Johnny, you can call me anything you like, as long as I get to call you Mine!"

A, slightly predatory, smile spread over Johns' face.

"Mine. I like the sound of that, as long as it goes both ways of course." Bringing his newly minted boyfriend in for another kiss.

They then settled down to continue their nap; both secretly hoping that this hadn't been a dream.

JMJWJMJWJMJWJMJWJMJWJMJW

Sherlock was going crazy. He had no data!

John wasn't answering the few texts he had sent, or returned his calls.

What if Moriarty had only been teasing him, giving John his phone back just to take it away after their conversation.

What if this was all a ploy to torture Sherlock mentally while John was tortured physically?

He couldn't take this!

He hadn't slept a wink in... four days? Huh, that was as long as he had kept John awake.

John!

He would never experiment on his blogger again- ever!

Unless he really needed to- but only with Johns' permission!

Unless his being aware would interfere with the results.

Well, he would just keep a better eye on the man in the future when damaging his spacial awareness.

Non of this was Sherlocks' fault. Why was he feeling guilty anyway?

It was Mycrofts' shoddy surveillance team that was at fault here!

His phone beeped.

John!

Grabbing up the small device, he nearly threw it against the wall.

Just Lestrade, wanting to know if there were any updates on John, most likely. He could ignore the DI.

Only John was important right now.

His phone beeped again.

He almost ignored it. Damn non-important people!

Looking at the screen he saw Johns' name flash across.

John!

Opening the text he had just been sent he promptly fainted.

JMJWJMJWJMJWJMJWJMJWJMJW

A worried Gregory Lestrade made his way to flat B of 221 Baker street.

He had texted Sherlock not long before, asking for an update about John.

Not like he needed it, he was getting everything direct from Mycroft after all.

But it was important for the cover if he went to Sherlock for everything. The young man was possessive at the best of times and stroppy when displeased.

All around it was just easier to keep the detective unaware of their relationship, rather than deal with the tantrum he was sure to have once he found out.

Opening the door he saw the tall man crumpled on the floor.

Rushing over Greg, suspected the worst, but there was- thankfully- no blood; or wounds of any kind.

It looked like he had just passed out where he stood- or fainted, but that was just ridiculous.

Spotting Sherlocks' phone lying next to him, Greg decided to see what the man had been up to before he went down.

Unlocking the screen he nearly fainted himself.

It was a message from John:

**Hey, did you know Mycroft and Greg are sleeping together? JW**


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer: If they were mine they would be wearing less clothing.**

Over the last several days a comfortable routine had been set in place.

Jim would get up before John, fix an amazing breakfast that they would eat together, then they would sit on the sofa and talk or watch a movie.

For lunch they would get take out and play around on their respective laptops- Jim had given John one the same day as he got his phone back, already set up and much nicer than his own.

As Jim would begin dinner, John would respond to three of Sherlocks' texts from throughout the day, but if any one else had texted or called he would have responded to them quickly.

He'd then upload his newly written blog posts- he had finally gotten through the backlog of cases to post- and ignore the dozen or so e-mails he had received from his flatmate that day; they had started arriving after his first blog update.

Finally, he would call Mrs. Hudson promptly at five to see how she was getting on with a crazed Sherlock.

The second time he had called her the git had snatched the phone and started berating John for not answering his messages.

John had simply yelled back, much to the delight of a certain consulting criminal who shall remain nameless, and promised to ignore all incoming calls, messages and e-mails from the consulting idiot if he ever interrupted Mrs. Hudson again.

And why was he receiving so many anyway?! He wasn't going to reply to six hundred texts a day, he was recovering, he had more important things to do, like sleep, than cater to the whims of a possessive child.

And call your Mother! Mycroft says she worries, and I am not your go between just because you're not speaking to him or Lestrade.

The message rate slowed down after that, only a hundred a day.

And Mycroft thanked him. It seems Sherlock had indeed called his mother.

After all the drama passed, and dinner was consumed; they would return to the sitting room to watch crap telly and later have sex- though it didn't always happened in that order.

So it came as a surprise when this routine changed.

Exactly one week after his 'abduction', there came a knock at the door.

Jim had been a bit edgy all morning, and now, after some nice Italian take away, he was jumpy.

When asked all he would say on the matter was 'Later'.

So when the knock came and Jim stiffened, John knew later had arrived.

"Want me to get it?" Receiving a stiff nod, John went to answer to door at the end of the hall.

The same man from his kidnapping was standing on the opposite side, holding a plain brown box.

Thrusting the package at the doctor, the man turned and left without a word.

Looking over the nondescript box he found a name: John Hamish Watson

Returning to the sitting room, and his boyfriend who was obviously ignoring him now, John began to open his whatever-it-was.

Looking inside John froze.

He could feel the stiffness to his right as Jim waited for a response.

"Johnny? Are you okay?" When no response was forth coming the criminal slid closer to his lover.

"Johnny?-!" Lips, hot and needy on his, and hands leaving bruises at his waist were his answer.

"Thank you." As they finally came up for air.

Looking back at the greatest present anyone could possibly have gotten him, John couldn't help his smile.

Picking up his Grans' family cook book, John ran fingers over the worn leather covering.

Flipping open to a random page he was taken back in time: watching as his Gran made these notes, learning to read French from that recipe; copying the ingredient list for that one, just to practice.

And here it all was, in his hands, he could almost cry.

"Where..." the words wouldn't come, they were stuck in his throat.

"Scotland. How it traveled that far I couldn't tell you though." He seemed pleased to have made John so happy.

Jim had done this for him, for no other reason but to make him happy.

Jim. James Moriarty. His boyfriend, Jim. And the man he was quickly falling in love with.

Placing the precious manuscript down, John grabbed his lover and dragged him to the bedroom.

He may not have a voice to thank the man with at the moment, but once he was done Jim would have no doubts about his feelings on the matter.

JMJWJMJWJMJWJMJWJMJWJMJW

"Damn, Johnny! Where were you hiding that? How did you even learn that?" Panted a happy, if exhausted, master criminal.

"I was in the army for years. You tend to pick stuff up. Plus I was saving it for a special occasion." Replied an equally exhausted ex-soldier.

His back would be sore for a while, and he might not be able to sit down properly ever again, but it was so very worth it.

"I don't have time to cook now."

"Don't care." A quiet huff of laughter greeted this remark.

"Well, you should. I was going to make us a nice anniversary dinner."

"What anniversary."

"Our one week anniversary, dearest Johnny."

"I've only been here a week? Seems longer. Though that could be the company I'm keeping." Here he leered at the dark-haired man laying in bed with him.

"Oh, John. You can be too much, you know that? How I ever got on without you is a mystery." He trailed kisses along Johns' collarbone.

"I just want to lock you away and never let anyone set eyes on you again." Just as John began to realize he might need to worry, a soft sigh rang out.

"But that wouldn't be healthy, for either of us." He ran a hand through military short hair.

"There is more to your present than just a book. But you'll need pack for the rest."

"Pack? Where am I going?" It took John only a moment to put two and two together.

"You're sending me to France?" He said it as a question, but meant it as a statement.

"You're getting better. Another few weeks and you'll be running circles around Sherly."

"Back to the point at hand. I'm going to France. That's my present?"

"Partly." He smirked.

"And what's the other part?"

"I very recently purchased a house just outside a small seaside town in the South of France. A young girl lived there years ago before coming to England.

"It was abandoned, but I've had it restored; it's amazing how quickly things can get done if you throw the right kind of money at it."

"So I'm going to go see my Grandmothers' old home?"

John was so excited by this idea, he wished he hadn't used up his best trick already. O well, he would just have to learn new tricks.

"Not just seeing it, I'm giving it to you."

"What?!" John had to have heard wrong.

"I have no need for a house in the French countryside, I've a flat or two in Paris if I want to go there.

"No, the house is yours now. To do with as you may. You will be staying there for the next week of relaxing recovery, though."

"Will you be coming too?" Please say yes.

"No. I think it's a good idea to take a break. We've spent the last week together, a week apart won't kill us. And it could provide you with some perspective."

"What do you mean?" Although John had a good idea.

"I kidnapped you at a weak moment in your life, and then proceeded to shag your brains out; some people could view that as wrong.

"Go to France, think about my life style and all that I do for a living.

"If, in a week, you still want to make a go of this, then we can make an honest start of it. And I can take you on a real date."

John wanted to protest, but he knew Jim was right.

He needed to take a step back and decide if he wanted to be a part of this amazing mans' seedy world.

"Alright, I'll go. But we still have tonight, don't we?" John didn't try to stop the lecherous grin spreading across his face.

"Oh, Johnny! You better believe it!"


	11. Chapter 11

**Disclaimer: If you don't know by now that I don't own them, then I worry for your mental state.**

Taking a seat in his chair and a sip from his tea- not nearly as good as Jim would have made, but good enough- John checked the time.

He had slipped into the flat while Sherlock was out on a case with DI Dimmock- it had been a week and a half and the man still wouldn't speak to his brother or Greg- and John was timing how long it would take for him to rush through the door.

The sudden slam of a door, and a rushing of feet on the steps, had John calling time: Twenty-three minutes!

Bursting through the door, the detective took in the familiar sight of his blogger: well rested, lightly tanned, upscale clothes- slightly worn but recently new, a relaxed posture and a warning smirk.

Conclusion: Well taken care of- under no duress, out in the countryside recently(English countryside? No, French.) and, finally, Sherlock was in trouble.

Deciding to ignore the last, he had done nothing wrong after all, he launched into his deductions.

He was cut off midstream.

"Firstly, you will call Lestrade. You need him as much as he needs you.

"Secondly, all damages are coming out of your half of the rent. I am not paying for the new holes, or the replacement of the kitchen table. How it is even still standing, did you pour acid on it?

"Thirdly, if you ever experiment on me again, with or without my permission, my new boyfriend would be glad to talk to you about personal boundaries.

"Fourth, and final, close your mouth, you look like a fish."

Taking a sip of his tea, John waited.

It took a couple of moments, but Sherlocks' brain finally caught up with reality.

"Boyfriend?!" He really- Really!- hoped he was wrong on this.

"Jim and I were shagging like rabbits until he bought me my Grandmothers' old villa. I'm calling him later to ask him to the opera for our first official date, I've already ordered tickets.

"Are you really not going to ask me how I'm doing?"

Sherlock twitched and then was still.

When he moved again it was to run down the hall and slam a door.

John watched the detective run and smiled.

As he waited for the reemergence of his flatmate, his phone went off.

**Darling! Floor seats? Really? We will have a balcony all to ourselves, thank you very much. JM**

Ding!

**And the tan looks lovely, by the way. JM**

John just had to respond to that.

**I went to a nude beach. Funny how Gran never mentioned one being nearby. ;-) JW**

He didn't get a response to that, but he liked to imagine the hungry look that comment was sure to illicit.

Taking another sip of his tea, and listening to the retching of a certain tall man down the hall, John let himself relax into the moment.

JMJWJMJWJMJWJMJWJMJWJMJW

Resting his head on the cool porcelain, Sherlock tried to dispel the images that had wormed their way into his brain.

He was glad John was back, he most definitely was, but he could have done without the commentary.

Pushing himself to his feet, and swishing the horrid taste from his mouth, he resolved to help John in every way he could.

The man had obviously been most horribly manipulated, and now it was up to Sherlock to bring him back to his senses.

He would start by reminding John of why they were friends, and of how evil Moriarty was.

If that failed he could always get his hands on some heavy antipsychotics, but he would call that Plan B for now.

Opening the door, he headed out to restart their friendship.

"How does Chinese sound for tonight, John?"

_AN: I know, it was really short, but I just wanted to get this one out there. _

_That said, my inspiration has taken a dark turn. I'm probably not going to be updating this story as rapidly as I have been until it has run its course with other fics._

_In the meantime, if there is anything you would like to see happen in this story drop me a review mentioning it and I'll try to incorporate it as I can._

_Thank you all for reading! And I'll see ya when I see ya!_


	12. Chapter 12

_AN: Sorry for the wait. Here's something I hope you all enjoy._

**Disclaimer: What? Mine? No; no, no, no, no. I'm just playing with them.**

The Opera. A perfect spot for a date. Dark lighting, secluded corners and loud music to drown out any 'noises' one might be making.

At least it would be if not for the brooding detective sulking in the seat next to them.

"Sherlock, for the last time, go away."

"Drop it, Gregory. He will not be leaving until he has what he came for."

"He is ruining our date. Isn't that what he came for?"

"No, though I doubt he is upset to be doing so."

The DI turned back to the young man steadfastly ignoring them, he had to try at least once more.

"Sherlock, just... I have so little free time, the same goes for your brother, we need this time together. Please! Just go."

Suddenly the tall brunette stiffened in his chair. The other two men in the balcony followed his eye line, wanting to see what had caught the geniuses attention.

"So that's James Moriarty. Not what I was expecting."

"That is the whole point. If he looked like everyone expects a criminal mastermind to look, he would never be able to go anywhere. And I am sure Dr. Watson enjoys going out and about with his new beau."

"Yeah? Well, they make a cute couple, I'll give them that." Sherlock finally moved, turning just enough to give a sidelong glare to the DI; he still wasn't speaking to either man.

"Don't look at me that way. You just don't want to see it is all."

The still silent man turned back to his starring. Suddenly jumping up, he rushed out the door. Looking for what had set the man off, Greg noticed John engaged in a passionate kiss with his boyfriend.

"Way to go John."

"Yes, but you might want to send him a warning now." Greg pulled his phone out and began to text.

"Yeah, I'd want a heads up if an angry Sherlock was heading my way; especially during a date. By the way, does that door lock?"

"Already taken care of."

By this point John had received the message and was looking around for the duo. Spotting them, he gave a wave and turned to his companion, who then began texting.

"What do you think will happen when Sherlock gets there?"

"Hmm. I believe that Dr. Watson will be the determining factor in any altercations that occur. He has shown remarkable skill when handling my brother and I can only hope that that skill also lends itself to handling Moriarty."

"He is more intimidating than people give him credit for being." As they watched Sherlock finally arrived.

The distance was too great to hear what was being said, but, going by hand gestures, John was giving Sherlock a right telling off.

"If only we could hear them." Mused the DI, he hadn't been looking forward to the opera, but now it seemed to hold a great deal more entertainment.

"If John's phone was still... equiped we would be able to hear every detail, but, alas, that is no longer the case and we must do with pantomime."

John had Sherlock backed into a corner now and his date had doubled over in his seat with laughter.

"I'm glad to see everything turning out alright over there."

"And I am glad that we are not to be interrupted again this evening."

"He could still come back over."

"Unlikely. Not after the tongue lashing he is undoubtedly receiving. Plus, I have plans involving your tongue and I highly doubt he will come back to witness them."

Turning to ask what was meant by that, his lips were at once captured in a hungry kiss. Pulling away after a long moment he finally got an answer to his unspoken question.

"These balconies are perfect for a quiet night together. They were the precursors to the drive-in theaters of fame, Detective Inspector. Why do you think I brought you to a venue you had no interest in? I enjoy Opera on occasion, but I will not sacrifice a night with you for it."

Giving a happy hum to this Greg was ready to dive back in for another kiss when a movement at the corner of his eye caught his attention. Turning he gasped, and then gave a small chuckle.

"Turn away for a moment and all hell breaks loose."

Sherlock was now standing on the balcony edge; he seemed to be threatening to jump! John was still gesturing wildly and yelling, while Moriarty held a hanky to his bleeding nose.

"Should we go help?"

"No. Our intrepid doctor has it all well in hand. Sherlock is winding down after all, and the show will begin in five minutes; he will leave before that."

They watched as the scene before them continued to unfold. Just as the lights flickered, indicating for everyone to quickly take their places, the tall detective stepped from his perch and walked out the door.

"That was anticlimactic."

"Would you have prefered my baby brother to have leapt to his death?" Greg pretended not to hear the faint note of amusement in his date's' voice.

"Don't be dramatic; Sherlock does it better anyway. No, I didn't want him to jump, but I did want to see John punch the git."

"Give it time Gregory, I am sure it will happen."

JMJWJMJWJMJWJMJWJMJWJMJW

John was pissed. No, he was livid! How dare that arrogant twit come barging in here!

First he disrupts Gregs' date- he was glad to see Sherlock hadn't damaged that relationship, yet- and then he saunters in on Johns' date and tells him he's being manipulated! That Wanker! It had felt good to tell him off though.

Up until he had popped Jim in the nose and threatened to jump. It was only a one story drop, at most he would have broken a leg! And John was really considering letting him do it when the lights flickered; then the madman he called a flatmate simply left without a word.

As the curtain rose John attended to his lovers' bloody nose.

"It's not broken, thankfully."

"He wasn't trying to break it." Came the muffled reply from behind the soaked hanky.

"Then what was he trying to do?"

"Gage your reactions. And I must say, I'm flattered."

"What? Why?"

"You were willing to let him break his legs in order to have a quiet night with me. So, like I said, I'm flattered."

"I didn't mean it like that!"

"Doesn't matter. He left. We have the rest of the night alone while he plans something more drastic."

"He's planning more? And your nose has stopped bleeding. Here, let me clean you up."

"Of course he is. And thank you."

"Lets just enjoy the show, shall we." John was just tired of the whole situation.

"Of course John, that is what we are here for; unlike some."

"What?"

"Never mind. I'm sure you will figure it out at intermission." So they settled back to enjoy the first act.

At intermission they headed for the bar, only to spot another pair already there.

"Greg, Mycroft; thanks for the heads up earlier, it was much appreciated."

"No problem John."

"John? Aren't you going to introduce me to your friends?" Jim asked as he handed his doctor a gin and tonic.

"Oh! Sorry, I forgot you hadn't met. Jim, this is Gregory Lestrade and Mycroft Holmes. Greg, Mycroft, this is James Moriarty."

"Please, call me Jim." He adds as hands are shaken.

"Greg. And, although I would love to arrest you, it is a pleasure to meet someone who can get under Sherlocks' skin as easily as he gets under everyone elses."

"It is a fun pass-time."

"Mr. Moriarty, I would enjoy a lengthy discourse with you sometime, I believe there are several avenues in which our respective businesses can benefit one another."

"That sounds quite agreeable Mr. Holmes. A double date somewhere less public, perhaps? Now that I am no longer going after your brother, it will not be seen as a conflict of interest."

"Hey, talk shop some other time. We are here for entertainment only, save it for another day."

"Yeah, plus intermissions almost over, we had better get back to our boxes. See ya around John, we'll talk later about setting up that double date."

"Later, enjoy the show." As the two walked off John turned to his lover. "They're not here for the opera, are they."

"Oh? How do you come to that conclusion?"

"Opera isn't really Greg's' scene, and he seemed rather eager to get back to his seat. Plus Mycroft was sporting a fresh hickie just below his ear."

"Very good John! Indeed, the good DI isn't here for opera, he is here to be savaged by his starched collar of a boyfriend. I'm sure they procured the darkest balcony all to themselves for the occasion."

He took a sip of his drink, waiting for John to say something to all that. What he got surprised him, like most things John did or said.

"We have a dark balcony all to ourselves, why haven't you savaged me yet?" Raising an eyebrow to his shocked companion, it was John's' turn to wait.

"John, this is our first date. I don't want you to think that I believe you to be easy!"

"And if I am easy? Would you take advantage?" He asked with a smirk.

"Certainly not! I'm a gentleman after all." Showing a smirk of his own, Jim led the way back to their seats and to what would undoubtedly be a fabulous make-out session.

JMJWJMJWJMJWJMJWJMJWJMJW

"How was the Opera?" Inquired the lounging man on the sofa.

"Oh, you know, it would have been better if a madman hadn't come bursting in and made a proper idiot of himself."

"Someone burst in on you? Who?"

"You, you git!" The tall man visibly flinched and then pouted.

"Have you eaten yet?" John changed the subject, not wanting to discuss it any further.

"I don't eat while on a case."

"You have a new case? But you only just finished one for Dimmock. What does this one entail?"

"You already know." That condescending tone wasn't helping the brunette any.

"Damn it, Sherlock! You are not breaking up me and Jim! Do you hear me!"

"I hear you, I simply choose to ignore you. You have been exposed to his wiles for an extended period of time. Your opinions are thus skewed."

The ex-soldier just looked at his lanky flatmate for a moment. Then, grabbing his jacket and phone, he headed for the door.

"John? Where are you going?"

"I'm going to go have my 'opinions skewed', all night if I'm lucky!" With that he slammed the door.

JMJWJMJWJMJWJMJWJMJWJMJW

His phone rang. Lestrade.

Fourth time in a half hour, must be an eight at least. Usually he would jump at such a case, but now he had a much bigger problem: John.

How was he to pull his friend out of the quagmire he had been sucked into? How was he to pull John away from that- that- that 'boyfriend' of his? He shuddered at that distasteful- accurate, but distasteful- description.

His phone rang again. With a huff he answered.

"Lestrade, I do not have ti-"

"Shut it Sherlock! This isn't about a case, John has been taken hostage. Mycroft and Jim are already here. Now get your arse in gear or I'll come over there and kick it!"

His phone went silent and then gave a blip. He had just received the address.

Rushing to pull on his coat and scarf, Sherlock bolted from the flat. Hailing a cab he had only one thought in mind: I'm coming John!

He couldn't live with the thought that he wouldn't be there to save his Doctor.


	13. Chapter 13

_AN: Sorry for that horrible cliffhanger I left you with, I work in retail hell and black friday was the apocalypse. Just be thankful I didn't kill anyone. With that out-of-the-way: On with the story!_

**Disclaimer: If enough of you think I own them it still won't make it true.**

Alighting from the cab, Sherlock headed straight for the group of bodyguards surrounding two besuited men. As he drew closer he could start making out what was being said.

"Mr. Moriarty, it is not my fault!" That gave the detective pause, he had never known Mycroft to raise his voice.

"Yes it is, Ice Man!" And why was Moriarty accusing Mycroft of being responsible for John's current predicament?

"They are your enemies! They are trying to get to you! You led them to believe you were in a relationship with my John! This! Is! ALL! YOUR! FAULT!" The screaming criminal was obviously upset that his boyfriend had been used as a strategic blind for the government. Sherlock wasn't happy with that either.

"He was not yours at the time!" By now Sherlock had made his way through to the pair. He didn't want to work with either of them, but he knew he would have to in order to get John back unharmed.

"Stop this, both of you! We can assign blame later, right now we need to focus on getting John back in one piece." The two suited men turned their glares on him and away from each other, Moriarty was the first to recover his composure.

"Sherly! How good of you to finally show!" Sherlock suppressed a wince at the reminder that he was late.

"Now tell your twat of a brother that he's an idiot, and that blowing up the building John is being held in is not an option." Sherlock turned an unbelieving stare on Mycroft. He wouldn't actually blow John up, would he?

"It is only a small portion of the building, and we do not believe Dr. Watson to be kept on that side of the structure; their really is no danger." Though he was gaining his composure back, the 'minor' government official couldn't meet his brother's' eye.

Needing to know the whole story as quickly as possible, Sherlock turned towards Lestrade. The DI had been standing on the sideline, watching the fireworks and keeping silent. Asking with a look, Sherlock was pleased when he got a prompt answer.

"It seems John got a cab to go see Jim here." Giving a nod towards the criminal, the DI failed to see the disgusted look Sherlock gave him for using Moriarty's' first name.

"The cabby was working for an enemy of Mycrofts'." A nod was given towards the stiff postured man.

"Over the last few months Myc has been leading them to believe he was in a romantic relationship with John." Sherlock smirked at the disgruntled look on Lestrade's face, his brother would have a hard time repairing the damage he had caused there.

"They decided to take John captive and use him a leverage on some political point or another. Jim came looking when John never arrived, and so here we are. Now, if everyone is caught up, we do have a hostage situation to deal with."

"We do?" Everyone turned at the voice from behind them.

"Johnny!" Jim launched himself at the other man, only to pull up short so he could asses his doctor's' injuries.

"It's not as bad as it looks, the worst is a wrenched shoulder." Noting it was the left shoulder, Jim stated looking in the shadows behind John.

"Don't worry, boss. The ambulance is already on its way." Said a tall, blonde and muscular man, stepping out of an alley mouth and moving towards the group. Nodding to his right-hand man- he would need to remember to give him a large bonus for tonight's' work- Jim turned back to his John.

"And I said I didn't need one." John stated in exasperation, causing the criminal mastermind to grin.

"You will let the paramedics look you over, and let yourself be taken to hospital for x-rays and tests. I will not have you taking chances with your health!" John and Jim stared at one another until the ambulance could be heard.

The three watching from the sidelines- the bodyguards having long since been forgotten- finally broke from their shock, Lestrade was the first to approach the Doctor.

"John! How...?" Greg was too flustered to finish his sentence, he stepped back when his pompous arse of a boyfriend strode forward.

"Dr. Watson, it is good to see you are-" Mycroft was cut off mid speech.

"Stop, right there; you are the last person I want to see or talk to. They thought we were shag buddies! The kept trying to tease me about our sex life!" John gave another glare towards the umbrella carrying man, then let the newly arrived paramedics get on with their job.

Sherlock hesitated to step forward, after their last little talk he wasn't sure if his presence would be welcome or not, and received a surprise that set him to thinking.

"John?" Jim caught John's' attention.

"I'll meet you at the hospital once you've settled in, Sherlock is going to ride with you. I don't trust anyone else with you right now, and I'm sure he is dying to check you over himself." Jim turned and gave a nod to the detective, then- after a quick kiss to a smiling John- took off for his car with his bodyguards and the tall blonde not far behind.

As Sherlock climbed into the back with him, John reflected on how lucky he was to have a boyfriend who knew in an instant just what he needed; and was willing to let him have it no matter what his own desires at the time were.

Leaning back on the stretcher, with his best friend by his side, John let himself relax; his shoulder was really starting to hurt now that the adrenaline of his escape left him.

Once in his car, Moriarty looked over his sniper, noting the pleased and impressed expression.

"Tell me." Was all he had to say. His stern look turned to one of pride and awe as the sniper gave his report.

His John had rescued himself and nearly slit Sebastian's' throat before the ex-colonel could convince him he was working for the doctor's boyfriend. Jim was laughing by the end: his wonderful John, just so full of surprises!

JMJWJMJWJMJWJMJWJMJWJMJW

Several X-rays, blood tests and an ultra-sound on his shoulder later, John was ensconced in a private room; being pampered by the nursing staff. Whether it was due to Mycroft feeling guilty or Jim being his usual self John didn't know nor did he care, he was simply going to soak it up and enjoy it as long as the morphine drip lasted.

His shoulder was badly wrenched like he had thought- and hurt like it hadn't done since he had been shot- so he was to be kept over night to ensure there were no complications; as well as get his pain under control.

Turning his head he looked over at his friend slouched in his chair, Sherlock hadn't said a single word to him yet.

"Sherlock?" Not even a twitch.

"Sherlock!" That finally made the man raise his head from his phone, it was the fastest John had ever gotten the man's attention away from the device. Seeing the expectant look he was getting he quickly continued.

"Thank you for staying with me up to now, but now that I'm settled you can take off if you want." If he hadn't known the man so well he would have missed the look of hurt in his eyes.

"You want me to leave?"

"No, no, I like the company; but I'm sure you're bored to death and..."

"You don't want me to fight with 'Him' when he comes." Giving a sigh, John nodded.

"Don't worry about it, John." Without an explanation on what that last statement meant, the infuriating man turned back to his phone. As the blonde lay back, trying to wrap his mind around what Sherlock could have meant, he fell asleep.

Waking up less than an hour later at the feel of soft lips on his own, John took in the form of his West Wood clad lover.

"Hi." John just had to grin at that.

"I get kidnapped, held hostage, subjected to horrific innuendo concerning how Mycroft uses his umbrella in bed, rescued myself from it all; and all you can say is 'Hi'?"

"Um... Hey there, Loverboy?" The twinkle in Jim's' eyes was everything John was looking for.

"Come here." He pulled the other man up onto the bed. As Jim was getting comfortable straddling Johns' thighs, the doctor remembered that he hadn't been alone when he fell asleep.

"Sherly stepped out when I came in. I think he's starting to warm to me, he didn't growl once while he was leaving." Jim smirked at that.

John really liked the thought of his best- if most annoying- friend getting along with his beau. It might be the morphine talking but he was getting the warm and fuzzies just thinking about it.

Reaching up a hand, John ran his fingers through dark locks; pulling down he brought their lips together in a soft kiss. It was a pleasant and chaste affair at first, but it quickly grew heated.

Tongues sliding over each other, teeth nibbling at lips; Jim brought his hips down slowly, grinding them together through several layers of cloth.

Biting off a cry, John bucked his hips under the sudden onslaught of sensation. When had he gotten so hard?

Liking the reaction he had just received, Jim ground his hips down again; this time receiving a quiet moan of his name. Beginning to rock back and forth, Jim gave encouragement to his blonde doctor.

"Oh, Johnny, you like it when I do this? Get you hard without trying, make you come without touching your naked body. Come for me John, don't hold back. Come!"

That sinful voice was too much for the ex-soldier. With a cry that made a passing nurse blush, John came.

Looking up at the impossible man perched on his hips, John gave a half-hearted glare; but couldn't hold back his chuckle.

"Now I'm all sticky. You don't remember what it's like to come in your pants, do you."

"I had forgotten, but I remember just how horrible it is now." Looking down, John could just make out the start of a stain on the expensive material.

"Jimmy! I didn't know I had such an effect on you!" Giving a growl, Jim retaliated by licking a strip up the side of John's' neck.

"The moans you make could cause a eunuch to come." Slamming their lips together, the brunette plundered and prodded the others' mouth; turning him into a panting mess.

Pulling back, Jim got off the bed and headed to the small restroom, he was back in only moments with a warm flannel. As he cleaned John up, he let his mind wander to how many ways he might have lost this amazing man tonight.

"I will never let anyone hurt you again, John." I love you too much. He just couldn't get those last words out.

A gentle hand on his wrist brought him back to the moment. He looked into deep and understanding blue eyes and felt a weight lift: he wasn't the only one unable to say the words quite yet.

With a smile and another kiss- this one remaining chaste- Jim returned to the watercloset to clean himself up.

Just as John was once more getting comfortable the door opened and Sherlock stalked in.

His gaze roved over John and he wrinkled his nose in disgust at what had obviously- at least to him- taken place before his re-entry. Throwing a glare at the closed-door of the restroom, Sherlock once more took up his vacated chair.

Jim came back into the room, glanced at the detective- who was steadfastly ignoring him- and sat next to John on the opposite side from Sherlock.

They both proceeded to pretend that the other wasn't in the room.

With a happy smile, John let himself drift into a contented sleep. They may not be good friends, but at least they were not tearing into each other. That was all he could really ask for at this point.


	14. Chapter 14

_AN: This is the end, sorry to all those wanted this to keep going. I just didn't know where else to take them. I hope you like the ending, I tried to make it interesting._

**Disclaimer: Not mine! **

John was kept in hospital for another two days. It wasn't necessary, but the ex-soldier wasn't going to complain when it was one of the few things Jim and Sherlock had agreed on.

Neither man left John's side for long the entire time he was there, and John- though fed-up with the constant attention- was loving having his two favorite people in the same room and not fighting. He knew it wouldn't last long, but it was nice while it lasted.

As soon as he was released, Sherlock whisked John back to their flat as soon as possible; and made a pest of himself trying to get the doctor comfortable. So when Lestrade called about a case John practically shoved the man out the door.

Five minutes after he was gone Jim showed up with take-out and the newest season of Doctor Who. With a smile John got plates and they had themselves a mini-date.

At some point after the second episode John fell asleep pressed into the side of his lover, he woke up to a quiet argument in the kitchen.

"I have every right to be here- he's my boyfriend Sherly. You may not like it but it's true."

"You are a bomber and a murderer. You've manipulated John into believing he has feelings for you. Just drop the good boyfriend act and admit that this is all a ploy to get under my skin!"

"Sure! Fine! I admit that I first kidnapped him to get to you! But things change! The world doesn't revolve around you, you know!" John moved towards the kitchen, if they got any louder Mrs. Hudson might come to investigate- and no-one wanted that.

"Of course I know that, John delights in reminding me that it revolves around the sun. And things don't change that much that quickly. You cannot have developed feelings for him in the short amount of time you were together!"

"You're right, I didn't! I've been falling in love with him since the Pool!" A shocked silence descended on the flat.

John made his way into the kitchen and around his flatmate to his lover. He planted a hard kiss on Jim's lips, and then weighed in on the conversation.

"I'm glad one of us finally said it. And I love you too, by the way." As he nuzzled into his boyfriends jaw, John didn't fail to notice Sherlock turning green. Before the genius could escape John took a pop-shot at him for forcing the confession out of Jim.

"The wedding will be in France, and you can be my best man." As Sherlock ran down the hall, John turned to see Jim's smirk.

"What?"

"Will we hold the wedding on that nudist beach you found?" Biting at those smirking lips, John couldn't help but smile himself.

"If we're going to get married, shouldn't one of us actually make a proposal?" Dropping to one knee, Jim looked up at John.

Not too much later Sherlock pulled himself off the- all to familiar- bathroom floor, and headed back to the kitchen. On the refrigerator was a note in John's distinct hand.

_I'm staying with Jim to discuss marriage plans and revenge schemes against Mycroft. I'll text you the details if it looks like you could be of help. JW_

With a smirk Sherlock sat down at his microscope.

Really, he thought, it hadn't been hard at all to trick those two into admitting their feelings for each other. It had been so annoying watching them dance around the issue while at the hospital. Now if only I can get those disgusting images to leave my brain.


End file.
